


Apéritif

by iosis



Series: tsukikane week 2014 [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukiyama gets his first proper bite</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apéritif

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TsukiKane Week, Prompt for Day 1 - day 1- F̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ ̶m̶e̶e̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ / first Times [UWAH, HE LOOKS LIKE A MODEL]. Self-indulgence at its finest.

This is the first time he’s seen Kaneki like that.

The scent is everywhere, overwhelming, overpowering, getting caught in his throat, filling his head until he could no longer think. Fragility and eventuality and fury and blood. There was the blood of others, too, and Tsukiyama’s own – he wasn’t even cut up that bad though, not enough to have him kneeling on the ground like this - that’s not it. It’s that goddamn _scent_ , shutting out everything else, the way it taunts him, so close, yet so perfectly unobtainable.

‘What’s the matter now, Tsukiyama-san?’

Kaneki’s footsteps resonate somewhere in his temples as the half-ghoul approaches, slow – it makes him think of a predator circling its prey. 

‘We should get out of here, and soon. I suggest you get up.’

Kaneki’s right – that wasn’t the most convenient collision, and whist those bothering them hardly were a match for either, they left a mess in their wake – _Kaneki_ left a mess in his wake, and that was probably why he’s reacting like that, the image of his sweet, naïve Kaneki transforming into _grâce mortelle_ personified branded into his mind. The deadly strands of his kagune blooming behind his back, the way blood stands out against the silver of his hair. The strength and determination he radiates, the novelty of these flavours combined with the previous longing resurging. It was difficult to keep himself in check after the Aogiri incident. He did good back then, but back then Kaneki hadn’t fought like that, nor did he on their following encounters. It’s not like they haven’t sparred or fought alongside each other, but it’s never been like this. _Calmato_ , Tsukiyama tries to tell himself, get a grip, display some semblance of control at least, but that’ hardly working, not with Kaneki lowering himself down beside him, the red eye burning into him with an intensity the Gourmet hasn’t witnessed before. 

‘Look at how weak you are. Can’t even get up after a little brawl? Shouldn’t you have regenerated by now?’

There’s a hand clutching at his collar, pressure against his jugular, but there’s no need for it, he’s been struggling to breathe as it is. Kaneki scrutinises him, eyebrows drawn, all cold interest and dissatisfaction.

‘Pathetic. And here I thought you were going for cheap effect when you said I should be responsible for making you like thit. That’s what it is, isn’t it? I’ve never seen you like this after fighting with anyone else, wiping the ground with your hundred-dollar wardrobe.’ The side of Kaneki’s hand connecting with his shoulder almost knocks him off balance – there’s the sound of expensive fabric tearing, the collar giving in under the strain. ‘You look like I could walk over you any way I fancied right now, and you’d let me.’  

There’s a more direct grip on his throat now – this is where some sort of self-preservation should be kicking in, but he just stills, waiting for whatever Kaneki does fancy bringing upon him.   

‘Say something. Oppose me, look at me, do something at least, don’t just fucking kneel there!’

Tsukiyama isn’t sure what he wants him to do – defend himself? Speak up for himself, fight back? He isn’t sure he’d be able to even if he wanted, even if there wasn’t a grain of truth in every word flung at him.

‘K-Kaneki-kun,’ he manages, his voice an unsteady whisper. ‘You’re…Very close, you know. You’re making it hard…to think.’ As enticing as Kaneki is, Tsukiyama’s desperate to get his barriers up, to get some space. He’s right there, blood drying on his cheek, the blood of others ‘s ruining the purity of the scent but he’s right fucking there and Tsukiyama can feel his pulse, can feel the warmth radiating from him and it’s all too much.

‘Is that so?’ Kaneki pulls him even closer, unfamiliar coldness in his tone. ‘What’s gonna happen to you eating me now, if you can’t even bring yourself to look me in the eye?’

Tsukiyama knows he should protest, should keep his intentions hidden. Words always have been his friends, his only friends, at times – they were easy to manipulate, they brought him strength. All he manages right now is a feeble shake of his head.

‘I wish you could see how needy you look right now, like a wounded animal. Don’t you dare think you can hide something like that from me.’

The grip on his neck tightens - his Kaneki is merciless. Merciless and _merveilleux_. He should have seen this coming from the very start, known that this scent will be the death of him. It comes as no surprise. What does seem unexpected is how welcoming Tsukiyama is to this sort of treatment, how everything’s ok really, as long as it’s Kaneki. How a part of him almost _likes_ this.   

Abruptly, the hand on his throat disappears, leaving him gulping for air.

‘You’re a mess. Stop drooling,’ Kaneki says, voice unexpectedly gentle. There’s a thumb wiping the mess off his chin, and Tsukiyama doesn’t want to think about how he must look right now, dishevelled and stained and downright broken.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ The half-ghoul continues, mostly to himself, and Tsukiyama wants to reply with ‘anything’. The hand moves to run through his hair, the purple strands probably all mottled and gross by now, and the Gourmet trembles under his touch.

‘You know, no matter what Touka said, I thought you weren’t that bad at the start. Before, you know. The trying to murder me and stuff. That kinda tends to kill the mood.’ Kaneki’s other hand comes to rest just above his knee, a heavy warmth, strangely comforting in contrast with the spoken accusation.

‘ _Non_ ,’ Tsukiyama manages, ‘ _Je n’ai jamais volou tu tuer’_. He wonders if Kaneki understands what it’s like, to live with the hunger for one person and one person only, to have it dominate every sense. If the half-ghoul ever experienced something like that, if he knew how much it took out of him to construct the slightest veneer of control.   

‘You know I don’t understand when you speak like that.’ The hand moves, rubbing loose circles into his thigh. Somewhere at the back of his mind Tsukiyama realises how hard he is right now, cock aching in the confines of his slacks; that he should probably be mortified or embarrassed, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is the way Kaneki looks at him – the way the foreign expression on the silver-haired boy’s face pierces him not with hunger, not desire, but something new entirely.

‘Remember the church? I thought you were breathtaking when I fought you. Terrifying, yes, but there was something uncanny about the way you moved.’ Kaneki actually smiled at him here – and there was a hand pressed against the front of his pants, blissful friction that made it even harder to focus. ‘All precision and grace. You seemed invincible. And look you at you now, I’ve got you completely defenceless’ – fingers tracing the outline of his cock, and Tsukiyama bites back a moan – ‘and you’re getting off on it, too.’

‘Ahh…That’s not it…’ This isn’t fair in the slightest. Kaneki’s everywhere, Kaneki’s all he can sense and smell and hear and almost taste. It’s making him disorientated. Heady, Tsukiyama leans forward, face buried somewhere at the crook of Kaneki’s neck, until he’s so close he could just bite down, lock his jaws around his prize, his life forfeit or not. He expects Kaneki to push him off, for his kagune to spring up in defence, but the hand in his hair is unbelievably gentle, despite that mocking tone telling him how pathetic Tsukiyama really is over and over. It takes him a while to register that he’s rolling his hips against Kaneki’s hand, his hands clawing at the asphalt, overwhelmed by a slow build-up of bittersweet pleasure. Kaneki drags his nails up the length of his cock, a spark of pain even through the layers of fabric, and Tsukiyama isn’t sure what he wants, to take everything Kaneki gives him and to beg for more, or for this torture to cease. He’s left desperate for a closure, torn between the vulnerability of his meal right in front of his mouth, and the dominance that rules Kaneki’s every movement in this moment - feels like he needs to say something, _be_ something more than a writhing moaning mess. He’s getting close already, heat pooling in his stomach, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and it’s gross and _scandaleux_ and still doesn’t do a thing to resolve what Kaneki does to him.

‘Tsukiyama-san,’ His cock twitches at the way his name leaves Kaneki’s mouth like that, a little more than a whisper. Kaneki wraps his fingers around his clothed length as if he was jerking him off properly, skin on skin. Tsukiyama feels as if every sense is at its breaking point, face burning in humiliation, but he’s never been this aroused in his life. His own voice rings in his ears, obscene moans and sobs almost, but all he can focus on is Kaneki. ‘Do you want to know what I thought of you when we first met?’

It’s hard to process actual information at this point, but the memory is there – a fragile frame, tensing up at the touch of his hand, and a scent so sweet it made his mouth water. The desire to own something like that, to claim the boy all for himself. How far has his Kaneki come from their initial encounter…

‘I thought you were beautiful enough to be a model.’ Kaneki breathes against his ear, and he can’t help but arch into him, desperate for more contact

‘I still think you are, you know.’ The hand in his hair tightens, pulling, dragging his head to the side, and Tsukiyama complies, teeth digging into his bottom lip because the urge to bite is so, so strong. The hunger courses through his veins as he thrusts his hips against Kaneki’s hand, desperate.

‘You’re so beautiful I could just eat you, right now.’ Kaneki whispers, and the mere suggestion of that is enough. Tsukiyama comes with a strangled cry, tasting his own blood, biting back words is different languages and Kaneki’s name and none of them come even close to describe what the half-ghoul is to him. He clutches at the other, hands digging into Kaneki’s shoulders on reflex, and Kaneki lets him, holding him upright as he rides out on his climax, the trembling easing off.

 ‘Tsukiyama-san. Since your promise to be my sword, you’ve been so, so good to me – until now.’

The wave of desire recedes, but the scent remains, the intensity of Kaneki right there in front of him. The Gourmet draws back, but the grip in his hair persists, giving no permission to recline into a sinking feeling of shame.

‘ _Desol_ _é_ ,’ is all that Tsukiyama can manage. He keeps his eyes downcast, doesn’t think he can face Kaneki right now, if ever. He feels like he’s floating, completely enveloped in the scent of Kaneki’s blood and sweat and breathing and nothing left to anchor him down, but then Kaneki is shifting, and there’s a sound of fabric grinding against skin and the scratch of a zipper being pulled and the scent is stronger than ever.  

‘I feel like you’ve deserved a little something.’ Kaneki lets go of him, and suddenly all Tsukiyama can see is pale skin, the waxy landscape of Kaneki’s shoulder, the networks of vessels and veins beneath, teasing, taunting him. Whatever thread of reason that bound him together snaps, and it takes all he possesses not to reach out and sink his teeth in, taste the blood on his tongue.

‘Come on. It’s ok.’ Kaneki beckons, drawing closer, and Tsukiyama wants to tell him that this is torturous and unfair and that he won’t be able to control himself, but the urge is too strong.

‘Consider this a small loyalty test.’ Is all he can hear before his teeth close around Kaneki’s shoulder. ‘Don’t fuck it up.’

Tsukiyama takes his first bite.                                       

 

**Author's Note:**

> do excuse if this came off overly ooc. i hope you enjoyed reading this, feedback and comments are more than welcome <3   
> you can also find me as prismatic0re on tumblr.


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